


Help me get in touch (with what I feel)

by alenie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, High School AU, M/M, No Hale Fire, No age difference, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:10:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenie/pseuds/alenie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles, what happened?” Derek says as sternly as he can (which isn’t very). Nevertheless, there is a pause on the line, and a small sigh. </p>
<p>“I was just…having some Stiles personal time, you know? And…I may have gotten something stuck. Um, in me.”</p>
<p>“In you?” Derek says incredulously. “What do you…oh.” Enlightenment strikes. “Like, in your…”</p>
<p>“Yes, in my butt!” Stiles snaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help me get in touch (with what I feel)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hands by the Raconteurs
> 
> This fic has been translated into Russian [here](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2173594). Thanks F_Smile!

Derek’s lying on his bed and reading an incredibly boring book for school when his phone rings. Stiles’ ringtone. He drops the book and rolls over onto his stomach to grab his phone off the floor.

“’Lo,” he says, happy for an excuse to stop doing his homework, and almost drops the phone when Stiles forgoes a greeting and immediately starts shrieking into his ear. Derek catches his name and a couple of _oh my gods_ and the word ‘hospital’, but not much else. It’s enough to make him sit up, alarmed.

“Stiles?” he says, but Stiles runs right over him.

“I have no idea what to do, oh my god you have to help me, this is the worst thing _ever_ —”

“Stiles!” he yells, and finally Stiles shuts up long enough for him to get a word in. “What’s wrong? Is your dad hurt?”

“My dad?” Stiles says. “Oh no, he’s fine. Or he should be. He’s at work.”

Thank god. If something had happened to Stiles’ dad…Derek knows that’s Stiles’ worst nightmare.

“Are _you_ hurt?”

“Um, not really? It’s just really uncomfortable and embarrassing and I don’t know what to _do_. So I called you.”

Derek sighs. Stiles is an expert at talking around things. He’s honed the skill from years of evading his dad’s questions. Derek _hates_ when Stiles does it to him.

“Stiles, _what happened_?” he says as sternly as he can (which isn’t very). Nevertheless, there is a pause on the line, and a small sigh.

“I was just…having some Stiles personal time, you know? And…I may have gotten something stuck. Um, in me.”

“ _In_ you?” Derek says incredulously. “What do you…oh.” Enlightenment strikes. “Like, in your…”

“Yes, in my butt!” Stiles snaps. “There, I said it. Happy? And it won’t come out and I’m freaking out.”

Stiles falls silent, breathing harshly in Derek’s ear. Derek looks down at his copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ and thinks about the five chapters he’s supposed to read for tomorrow.

“I’m coming over,” he decides.

“But, Derek—” Stiles says.

“I’m coming over, and I’m going to help you get it out. It’s no big deal. I’ve seen you naked before. So don’t argue with me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, uncharacteristically meek.

*

Derek spends six minutes hastily googling _how to get things out of butts_. He isn’t even sure what exactly Stiles has put in his butt—a dildo? a butt plug? a cucumber? Knowing Stiles, it could be anything. At any rate, the internet suggests an abundance of lube and disposable gloves.

Laura definitely has gloves in her room. She uses them when she dyes her hair so her fingers don’t get all red or purple or whatever.  Luckily, she’s over at a friend’s for the afternoon, and Derek doesn’t feel at all guilty about sneaking into her room and stealing a pair. He finds the box easily enough and has to sit down heavily on her bed for a moment. Getting the gloves is acknowledging that he’s actually doing this. He’s actually going to put his fingers _in Stiles’ butt._ Jesus. He hasn’t even put his fingers in his _own_ butt before.

He’s yanking his sneakers on when his mom appears out of nowhere. Crap, he’d forgotten she was home.

“Going somewhere?” she inquires.  Her hair is in a wispy braid and there’s a smudge of dirt on her cheek; she’s been working in the garden.

“Just to Stiles’,” he says, hoping she won’t ask if he’s finished his homework.

She nods, looking distracted.

“Dinner’s at six, don’t be late,” she says, and goes into the kitchen.

Derek, relieved, ties his shoes, drags his bike out of the shed, and sets off.

*

He doesn’t bother knocking at Stiles’ house—they’d stop knocking at each other’s houses years ago—and just barges in and goes up to Stiles’ room. The door is mostly shut.

“Stiles?” he says, and cautiously pushes the door open a crack. Stiles is standing in the middle of his room, pale, his hair dark with sweat. He has a ratty bathrobe on and he looks miserable.

“Hi,” Stiles says, his gaze fixed somewhere in the direction of Derek’s feet.

“Hey,” Derek says, trying not to wince at Stiles’ awkward, wide-legged stance. “Uh. Do you have lube?” Better to get straight to business.

“Yeah, here,” Stiles says, plucking it off the bed and shoving it at him and blushing. Their fingers brush as Derek takes it from him and Stiles pulls back and tucks his hands behind his back.

“Jesus, Derek, you really don’t have to do this. I can go to the hospital or something.”

Derek shrugs. “You could, but then your dad’ll find out for sure.”

Stiles blanches and knots his hands together.

“Right, okay. How should we do this?”

Derek fumbles with his words for a second, unused to a Stiles who keeps deferring to Derek. Normally Stiles is a bossy little shit.

“Uh, take off your robe and get on the bed.”

Stiles bites his lip, glancing from Derek to the bed, but when Derek says, “Don’t be shy, I already know you have a tiny dick,” Stiles scoffs and sheds the robe. Soft, he isn’t quite as big as Derek. At least, that’s what Derek likes to tell himself. Stiles is uncut though, which Derek is kind of jealous about. He’s read on the internet that there’s a lot less chafing that way.

Stiles’ hands twitch like he’s fighting the urge to cover up his junk.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” he mutters, and apparently resigned to his fate, clambers onto the bed, presenting his skinny ass to Derek. The end of whatever it is Stiles has shoved up there is sticking out a bit, thank god. It’s thin and blue, only just poking out from between his cheeks. Probably not enough for Stiles to get a good grip on it.

Stiles is still wearing a faded green t-shirt that he’d had on under the robe, but somehow that only makes him seem more naked, to be exposed from the waist down.

Derek pulls on the gloves and pours some lube on his fingers. “I’m going to touch you now, okay?” he says nervously.

“Okay,” Stiles says, but the second Derek touches the swell of Stiles’ ass—not even near Stiles’ asshole, he’d thought it best to start with more neutral ground—Stiles jerks away.

“Stiles?” he asks, holding his hands up even though Stiles can’t see them.

“I’m good, keep going,” Stiles says. “Just, uh, the lube’s cold.”

“Sorry.”

Derek warms the lube between his fingers for a few moments and then rests his fingertips right at the top of Stiles’ crack. Stiles doesn’t flinch this time, not even when Derek’s fingers slide down between Stiles’ cheeks until they butt right up against the toy. Instead, he’s holding himself unnaturally still. Derek, wanting to get a better look at what he’s dealing with, gathers up his courage and says, “Uh, could you—could you spread your legs a little more?”

He winces as he says it, feeling like he’s directing some kind of dubious porn shoot, but Stiles obediently shuffles his knees farther apart. That’s better. Maybe if he…

Derek carefully spreads Stiles’ cheeks with one hand and yeah, now he can see _everything._ The skin around Stiles’ asshole is red and puffy, and weirdly soft under Derek’s fingers, even through the gloves. He gives the toy or dildo or whatever an experimental tug. It doesn’t budge, but it does elicit a low _uh_ from Stiles.

“Does that hurt?”

“No,” Stiles says, but his hands are gripping the sheets.

“You’ve got to relax if you want this thing to come out.”

“ _Relax_?” Stiles hisses. “How the hell am I supposed to _relax_ when I’ve got a six-inch dildo stuck up my ass and my best friend is getting real up close and personal with it!”

Stiles has a point. Derek settles for awkwardly patting Stiles’ hip in what he hopes is a soothing manner.

“Tell me what you did this morning,” he suggests, hoping to distract Stiles. “Prior to the Great Dildo Incident of 2010.”

He carefully rubs more lube around the clench of Stiles’ asshole as he talks. His quick Google search informed him that lube and patience is pretty much the key to success in these kinds of situations. (It also said that using your _tongue_ would help the muscle relax even faster, but there is no way in hell Derek’s going to lick Stiles’ asshole. Touching it is weird enough, even if it isn’t as alarming as he’d thought it’d be.

Or maybe he’s just saving the freak-out for later.

Stiles is saying something in a rather stilted voice about what he’d had for breakfast.

“No fruit?” Derek asks disapprovingly, and pushes just the smallest bit inwards with his finger. Too soon. He goes back to rubbing. “Don’t come whining to me when you get scurvy.”

Another little push, and oh, there is give now, a marked difference from the tight resistance of before.

Stiles starts to reply indignantly just as Derek applies steady pressure. His finger sinks in to the first knuckle and Stiles cuts off mid-sentence, his ass clenching around Derek. _Jesus_.

“Oh fuck,” Stiles says. “Is that—”

“My finger? Yeah. Am—am I hurting you?”

“I’m okay,” Stiles manages, and Derek takes that as his cue to start wiggling his finger back and forth, trying to spread the lube around as much as possible. He has to pull out to apply more lube after a minute and he watches in fascination as his finger slowly slides out, dragging a little at Stiles’ rim and making Stiles twitch. Re-lubed, it goes back in much easier; just a little push and Stiles’ asshole opens right up.

Gradually, the hold of the muscle continues to loosen up, and Stiles gets less tense, leaning forward to bury his head in his arms. It makes his ass stick up even more, and Derek’s left hand, which has been on Stiles’ hip for a while, drifts unbidden to cup the curve of his ass. Derek feels a thrill of nervous excitement run through him and he quickly tamps it down. So what if Stiles’ skin is warm and soft under his hand. He’s supposed to be _helping_ Stiles, not—doing other things to him. _Back on track, Derek_ , he tells himself.

This time he tries twisting the dildo and grins in satisfaction when it obligingly turns a full half-turn inside Stiles. Stiles makes another low sound but doesn’t lift his head.

“You’re doing great,” Derek says. “Bear down on the count of three, okay? One…two…three.”

Stiles bears down, Derek gets a firm grip on the dildo, and it slides out with a long wet sucking sound. The thought rises unbidden to his mind what it would sound like if Derek put his dick in there. In Stiles. If he put it in Stiles, would it make that squelchy noise?

He hopes it would.

Jesus Christ. Derek drops the dildo on the bed and backs away, peeling the gloves off his hands as he goes. He shouldn’t be thinking those things about Stiles. He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about how Stiles’ asshole looked wet and open after Derek pulled the dildo out, like if Derek nudged his dick up against it it would slide right in.

_Fuck._

“It’s out?” Stiles is saying. Derek watches as he reaches a hand back and feels at his asshole with trembling fingers. “Oh my god, it’s out.”

Stiles collapses forward on to the bed, smushing his face into the sheets.

“Thanks,” he says, muffled. “Sorry you had to touch my butt and stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says quickly, and makes a dash for the door. He’s gonna get hard if he has to think about Stiles’ ass any more. “Um, I have to—I have to go.”

“What? Derek, wait.”

There are some rustling noises behind him and Derek stops, turns around reluctantly. Stiles is sitting up with his sheet pulled over his lap. He looks worried.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says again. “Did I—is it—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying, but you said it was okay, Derek, you did, please don’t let this make things weird between us.”

His voice is thick, choked up, and his hands are still shaking.

Derek can’t leave him like this.

“I think,” he says unsteadily, “I think I have feelings for you. And when I was—touching you—I  know it’s wrong to think those kinds of things about you. So I should go.”

He tries to back away again towards the door, but Stiles says “ _Derek_ ,” in such an insistent way that Derek stops.

“You have feelings. For me,” Stiles says. He has his hands in his lap and his hair is sticking up, and Derek wants to kiss him.

Derek nods.

“Okay. First of all, _what the fuck_ , Derek! Since when are you gay? Why didn’t you tell me? I told _you_ when I realized I was bi! Actually, hold that thought. I’m gonna need underwear for this.”

Stiles, looking much better now that Derek has confessed, wraps his sheet around his waist and proceeds to scrounge around his room for a clean pair of boxers. Once dressed in these, he sits back down on his bed and levels a steady gaze at Derek.

“Well? Spill.”

“I wasn’t sure,” Derek says. “If I was gay. You’re my best friend, and I thought I just had… best friend feelings about you. But I want—I want to _do_ things to you. With you. Like, sex things.”

He looks anxiously at Stiles, but his face isn’t giving anything away.

“And you only figured this out just now?” Stiles asks. “It’s not like we don’t _spend all our time together_ or anything.”

“I _know_ ,” Derek says. He feels shaky, and he turns and abruptly sits down in Stiles’ computer chair and rests his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands.

The bed creaks when Stiles scrambles off it.

“Woah, hey. Don’t freak out on me.”

“I’m not,” Derek protests.

“Dude, you totally are. You’re having a gay breakdown in my computer chair.”

There’s a hand on his knee. Derek opens his eyes to see Stiles crouching in front of him with a worried look on his face.

“Maybe I am,” he admits. “Are you mad at me?”

“Jesus fuck, Derek. Of course I’m not. I know my ass brings all the boys to the yard, it’s not your fault you got all seduced by it or whatever.”

Derek huffs out a laugh.

“Seriously though, thanks for telling me,” Stiles adds. “You freaked _me_ out when you tried to run away like that. I thought—well, never mind.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Stiles studies him for a moment before reaching up and drawing him into a tight, unexpected hug.

“Happy coming out,” Stiles says into his collarbone before letting go and sitting back on his heels. “So are you gonna ask me out, or what?”

“I—what?”

Stiles shrugs elaborately and stands up, meandering off behind Derek. Derek figures maybe it’ll be easier to talk if they don’t have to look at each other, so he stays put.

“Well it’s not like I was gonna ask you out when I thought you were _straight_ —” the extra emphasis Stiles put on the word makes Derek wince—“but you just said you had feelings for me, dude, I think the logical next step is asking me out. Also? I already let you touch my butt, so I think you owe me one.”

_What_.

Stiles wants to go out with him? _Has_ wanted to go out with him? Stiles has never ever in the least way indicated that he might be into him. Derek has no idea what to say, so he opts for a joke.

“What the hell, Stiles. You were practically _begging_ me to touch your butt.”

“Whatever, dickwad,” Stiles says, sounding distracted. Derek turns to see that he has a hand down the back of his boxers. He yanks it out as soon as he sees Derek watching, glaring at him.

“You okay?”

Stiles hesitates.

“Yeah. Peachy keen.”

“I know you’re lying.”

He does know, that’s the thing. Stiles gets fidgety when he lies, biting his lip or fiddling with the hem of his shirt or a million other little tells that Derek’s learned from years spent in Stiles’ company.

“Ugh, I hate how well you know me. Anyway, you’re still having a crisis, I don’t wanna interrupt.”

Derek sees that a switch in tactics is needed.

“Stiles. Will you go out with me?”

Stiles blinks at him, confused. Derek waits him out.

“Yes,” Stiles says slowly. “Definitely yes.”

“Okay, crisis officially over. Now tell me what’s wrong.”

He can see in Stiles’ face the moment when he gives in.

“Yeah, uh, it still feels weird down there? Like, kind of open. What if it doesn’t go back to normal? Oh god, I’m never putting anything in my butt ever again.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Derek offers.

Stiles doesn’t look reassured. “What, like you’re the butt expert now?”

“No, but yours looked like it was gonna be okay the last time I saw it.”

“Okay, well, you just stay _right here_ for a minute. I’ll be right back.”

“Are you seriously about to go try to look at your ass in the bathroom mirror?”

“So what if I am?” Stiles retorts sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is a _crisis_ , Derek. I’ve probably ruined my butt! It’ll never be the same!”

“Oh my god, don’t be so dramatic. Look, I’ve already seen it once today so if it’ll stop you having a conniption fit and falling off the bathroom counter trying to get a good look at it…”

Derek can’t quite bring himself to finish the sentence, because while part of him really does want to reassure Stiles, another part just desperately wants to get to see his ass again, and it makes him feel kind of guilty about offering to help. By the way Stiles’ eyes widen, he gets the message.

“Don’t you think that’s a little early in our relationship?”

“I think that horse is already out of the gate, Stiles.”

“Okay, fair point. Then I’ll just—”

Derek almost forgets to breath, watching Stiles push his boxers to his knees and bend over his bed. He kneels down behind Stiles and carefully pulls his cheeks apart. Stiles’ asshole is still puffy, but the red has faded into pinker tones. It definitely isn’t gaping or anything. Derek presses the pad of his thumb against it and Stiles’ whole body jolts.

“Is it sore?” Derek asks.

“A—a little,” Stiles says.  “How’s it look?”

“I think you’ll live.”

“ _Derek_.”

“It’s a little puffy, but you’re gonna be okay. It’ll probably be back to normal by tomorrow.”

“Oh thank god,” Stiles says, tugging up his boxers. He yelps when Derek pinches his ass. “Alright, hands off the merchandise, you gotta buy before you try.”

Well.

“You wanna get fries and milkshakes with me tomorrow after school?”

Stiles beams at him.

“Yeah, I do,” he says, and he hooks a couple fingers in the front pocket of Derek’s jeans, tugs him over and kisses him on the lips, short and sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come talk about butts (or y'know, other things) with me on [tumblr](http://alenie.tumblr.com)!


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